The Lucky Number 3
by OhGoodnessMarie
Summary: In the 33rd annual Hunger Games, a young tribute from District 3 named Corbett goes through quite the journey. An arena of desolate cold, a mountain of many dangers, and two final tributes who are out for blood and guts are only a few things that make Corbett lucky number three. T for violence


**A/N: This has absolutely nothing to do with Katniss's story. This is Corbett, and what happens to him. I hope you see his story clearly. x**

The cold night air nipped at Corbett's cheeks as he sprinted away from the battle nearby. With only two other tributes left, he knew he would be forced to fight sooner rather than later, but he was still without a weapon and near exhaustion from the mountain's avalanche a few days earlier. And after noticing the gash in his shoulder bleeding again, he figured he was in no condition to fight.

Heavy flurries of snow were falling by the time he reached a patch of shrubs and lichens that could be considered a passable shelter. In the past thirty-two Hunger Games in existence, there had never been an arena like that of the thirty-third. A wide stretch of tundra with virtually no protection against the cold surrounded the Cornucopia. There was a large, snowy mountain that stood in the way of a pine forest- the only source of wood to build a fire. From the first day, it was blatantly obvious their puffy coats weren't enough to ensure survival.

More tributes had perished on the journey over the mountain than during the initial bloodbath at the start of the games. The terrain was rocky, dangerous, and filled with predators. Wolves camouflaged with their white fur successfully killed many of the unsuspecting. Mammoth bears inhabited any caverns in the rocks. Food was scarce and the smaller animals had a tendency of stealing any pathetic amount of nutrition you managed to get your hands on. It took well over a week for those who endured it to reach the other side. Corbett himself was very mangled after the journey.

His ally from District 6 had even died during a blizzard while they were scaling the peak. Bundled up together in the thick blanket they'd snatched from the Cornucopia, Corbett felt his partner's body tremor in the freezing weather. His breathing came in quick bursts that gradually faded into silence. When the canon sounded, Corbett didn't know what to do with himself. He felt compelled to cry, but no tears came. Somewhere in his heart, he knew that something like that was bound to happen eventually. Perhaps that was why his friend had never reached out to him for help. Maybe there was a sickening reason as to why Corbett hadn't tried to save him.

Once the remaining tributes arrived at the forest though, things became deadly- quick. Fights broke out every which way. The pines certainly shielded everyone, but the snow-blanketed ground caused a completely new problem. Every step left a print. It was easy for even the dumbest tribute to find a trail of footprints and follow them until they reached their target. Corbett spent much time walking in one direction, and then deliberately turning around to head another way.

He spent his days hiding from enemies, confusing them with erratic footsteps, and hunting caribou or rabbits to satisfy his hunger. Water was everywhere, if you had a container to melt the snow in. Food, on the contrary, was more difficult. Corbett practiced with knives and weapons in training the best he could, but truth be told growing up in District 3 had left him little combat skill. He could fix a broken appliance or technical gadget without blinking. Physical activities like the fighting and hunting were hard for him to adapt to so quickly. He figured that was one of the strong factors that alienated his district from the Careers. Acting technologically savvy would be a great thing if there were one electrical thing around.

Corbett wasn't even supposed to be in these games in the first place. He should have been at home, learning how to rewire a television set or helping his father upgrade their oven into one that cooked meals in mere seconds. Reaping Day came along, and while the teen was nervous, he wasn't worrying too much. The slip with his name was sitting in a sea of others. The chances of him being picked were lower than his sister's self-esteem.

And lo-and-behold, he _wasn't_ chosen. A boy named Kiern was picked, but upon further review it turned out that he was already a man at the age of twenty. One of his slips was still with the mix by accident. The next person chosen was thirteen years old, but was nowhere to be found. Peacekeepers rushed to his house while the cameras filmed the crowd of confused citizens, and when they came back, it was reported that the boy was found dead in his room. He had committed suicide that very morning. The teenagers standing by Corbett were baffled. Someone whispered frantically, "It's almost like he _knew_, huh?"

That was when Corbett was called. Third time was the charm, and District 3 finally managed to find an eligible, live tribute. Corbett's life changed at the drop of a hat. He tried his best throughout the events in the Capitol, but his hopes for winning weren't well off. One day he was going to school and living life like normal, and the next he was thrown into the death match of the year. Nothing felt real. It felt like every day was a dream. He found himself ready to let go of everything he held dear, but he wasn't going to give up without putting in any effort.

And there he was, in the final _three._ The emotional trauma and horrifying images he'd witnessed were going to stick with him until the moment his heart stopped beating, whenever that was. But considering the factor that he was so close to winning, he had the slightest glimmer of hope that maybe his heart would go on for more than a few more hours.

Corbett took inventory of the few items he had as he cuddled into the shrubbery. His knife lay right next to his hand, ready for an attack. A single match was tucked away deep in his pocket. He rewrapped his blanket around the tin can before stuffing the bundle into his coat again. The can was his lifeline in the arena. It was about two feet away from his metal plate by the Cornucopia, so he grabbed it without really thinking about it. It melted snow quickly and left a good amount of water to drink.

He'd seen a tribute struggling to thaw the snow in her hands and get the sweet satisfaction of hydration. She hissed in pain more than once and her hands were beet red a few minutes later. Corbett didn't have the heart to hurt her. She looked to be about fourteen at the most and deserved every second of precious life she had left. Then, as he turned to leave the area, the avalanche erupted before he could count to ten. The ground shook and the girl was knocked clear off her feet.

What happened next was truly horrifying. Corbett had never seen so many tons of snow in his life. It rolled down the side of the mountain like a waterfall, and then rushed towards him full force. He fled as fast as his legs could carry him, leaping over the occasional rock and weaving through the endless trees. Behind him, he heard the crunches of thirty-foot pines falling over and the whoosh of the wind following the mass of hazardous snow. Seconds or minutes passed, he wasn't sure which, but after awhile he swore, he heard cries in the distance.

Corbett's boots ripped through the snow. Once he stumbled over the roots of a tree and fell flat on his face. For a horrendous moment or two, he could feel the weight of the frozen water piling up on his legs. He willed himself to get up and keep moving. No one was going to help him. He had to help himself. He ran and ran after that, even when the sounds of the body-crushing avalanche had stopped.

A day later, he plucked up enough courage to assess the damage. He didn't have to head in far to see the piles of snow everywhere. It almost looked like another mountain formed with how high it was. He climbed around cautiously. It wasn't too bad, he guessed. There just seemed to be a sea of frozen water with the bodies of pine trees acting as swimmers. Some time passed, and he came across an object sticking out of the mound. At first, he thought it was a stick or part of a branch, but when he saw it up close he immediately jumped back.

It was an _arm_. He took in a few deep breaths and closed his eyes. He knew that he would be their only chance of survival, if they were still alive. Part of him was ready to carry this person to a safe place and nurse them back to a semi-healthy state, but he was torn. This was the Hunger Games. The point wasn't to save anyone, and the Gamemakers would most likely blow them both to smithereens for doing something so stupid. Finally, Corbett's conscious won, and with a hammering heart, he yanked the body from its heavy grave. It was surprisingly very light. It was the girl he'd seen drinking out of her hands. He was almost sure of it. She was covered head to toe with snow and water. Her lips were frozen together. Her skin was chilled and clammy. It was too cold to be healthy. He went to check her pulse.

Three canons went off and he jumped again. The girl's heart wasn't beating. He took the supplies she was holding with a guilty shadow looming over him. Then, he left. He couldn't stand staying there, he had to leave- he had to go away and clear his mind. He walked away without another thought and didn't even flinch when the hovercraft swooped down to collect her body. All he did for the next forty-eight hours was hole himself up in a decent shelter far from the avalanche sight and sleep. When he woke up, he would drink, force down some leftover game, and beg himself to sleep again. He kept hoping that one time he would wake up and be back in District 3, but it never happened that way.

It was Zada that eventually brought him back to a harsh reality. He wasn't at home, and odds were that he never would be again. It took a blade slicing through his shoulder for him to realize that. The girl tribute from District 8, Zada, had proved to be handy with all sorts of knives in training. Corbett had wondered more than once if she was a little off her nut and had trained herself her deadly tactics back home.

There was a moment of peace when Corbett was lulling back into slumber, but the next was filled with pain. He heard the tearing of his coat and felt the blood pour from his skin well before the pain of the slash caught up with him. He bolted upright with his knife in hand, causing the girl to move back a few feet. There was a crimson red bandage wrapped tightly around her right hand and her left shook while holding her weapon. She had managed to get a damaging hit to him without even using her dominant hand. His eyes widened with fear.

Zada was shaking and looked equally as terrified as he felt, but she still forced a grin as she said, "I knew there had to be another one hiding out here somewhere. Found your hole, rabbit." The girl was honestly in the worst condition. Her face was littered with bruises and cuts, and a huge cut down the side of one of her pant leg meant that she had to have been in one serious brawl. Plus a few more, it seemed. Corbett fled whenever was possible, that was his strategy so far. He didn't go picking fights. There were never many tributes in his part of the icy forest anyway, so scuffles hadn't been huge for him. That didn't seem the case with Zada.

She smiled wider when he didn't answer. Fear fueled her adrenaline. "Quiet as always, Corbett?" He was surprised she knew his name. He'd kept so quiet during the training and interviews that even in the final few tributes, half of Panem probably still didn't know whom he was. His eyes scanned the area behind Zada. He had to answer her, keep her distracted.

"I was just thinking," He replied slowly, knife still steady in his grip. She proceeded to ask him what in the world he could be thinking about at a time like that, her voice losing its sickly sweet tone. By then she sounded annoyed. He paused. "You would be really hot if you weren't so bloodthirsty." It was a lie, and it was impulsive, but it effectively slapped the menacing look off her face for a moment.

"Wh-what?" She sputtered, knife trembling violently in hand. Her eyes gradually narrowed into slits. "Oh, ha ha. I didn't know you were such a _card! _And as much as I'd like to hear more, your head's going to be sawed off before that ever happens."

Corbett was in deep trouble. He inched himself forward and shifted his weight to his knees. The faster he could get to his feet and get out of there, the better. He just had to keep the psycho's attention away from his movements. "That sounds like a plan, but I'm kind of busy right now. My shoulder is bleeding profusely, as you can see."

"That's only the beginning." When Corbett called Zada bloodthirsty, he wasn't over exaggerating. The girl was vicious. During the ceremonies she came across as perfectly normal. She looked terrified to be there like the majority of tributes. It wasn't until training that her skills became apparent, and in her interview, she even said something along the lines of, "I'm ready for this. I'm ready to tear everyone to shreds. Of course, I've never killed a person before but the thought is intriguing. If someone gets in my way, I can stick a sword through their heart and never have to see them again. A person can murder every single tribute in the arena and not feel an _ounce_ of guilt afterwards. You can't imagine how excited I am for this." Her smile was genuine.

His shoulder throbbed as he did so, but Corbett managed to leap to his feet and sprint away as the girl lunged for him. He didn't have to look back to know that she was right on his heels. The boy nearly tripped twice due to the restriction of his wound and not being able to pump his arms, but he didn't allow himself to fall again. He was a natural runner, and he wasn't going to die because he _tripped._

That's what happened to Zada in the following seconds. Corbett heard a thud and a loud curse behind him, but he didn't dare stop moving. This was a stroke of luck. He would put more space between them and use something to stop the bleeding of his wound. If he was really fortunate he would get aid from a sponsor, but he doubted it. District 3 didn't have the best reputation or many victors in the past three decades. The polls between Zada and what other tributes were still going must have been massive.

Corbett came to a halt behind a large tree and wedged his body inside of the prickly branches. That only caused his shoulder to hurt more, but the coverage was worth it. The smell of pine calmed his tense nerves down a notch. He swiftly took his coat off and felt the extreme chill of the night pass through him. His shirt came off next, and he did his best to wrap the fabric tightly around his aching gash. Then, he threw the blanket around his torso to act for his shirt and tucked the tin can in best he could. With his coat back on, he felt colder, but the pressure on his wound was already helping. He stayed there for a while; breathing in the scent of pine. Eventually, he left the safety of the tree and headed out to find a more suitable sleeping area.

He wandered for hours. All of the available shelter in the arena seemed to have disappeared all of a sudden. He searched high and low but found nothing but trees and snow. The animals looked to have moved out of the area as well. He decided his best choice would be to head back in the opposite direction, towards more resources, and pray that Zada wasn't there anymore.

It was well into night when Corbett took a sharp left turn and collided with what at first he thought to be a tree, but was actually more lethal than twelve Zadas combined. It was Stellan, a Career from District 1 and a favorite to win. He was bulky and strong, and just being in the same room as him frightened Corbett. Stellan had been dominating these games, it seemed. There were no serious wounds visible on his body and hanging from his belt was an assortment of killing devices. Weapons of every kind struck icy fear through Corbett's being.

Stellan wanted to see him suffer. He toyed with Corbett, fighting him with a small kitchen knife in the beginning stages of their brawl. The beefier male slashed at Corbett's coat and exposed skin, eliciting bloody cuts and small slivers of pain. The next level of weapon was a longer, sharper knife with a tip pointed enough to pierce metal. The game went on for what felt like forever. Corbett felt sick and he was cut up everywhere. The larger the weapon, the more compelled Corbett was to evade it. He was tired, hungry, and dreading the time when Stellan would use his biggest sword. It was the size of a toddler and the shape of an impending doom.

Corbett was too disoriented to figure out whether his enemy has knocked him over or if the boy's legs finally gave out, but Corbett ended up on the frozen ground. Stellan said something to him, but Corbett couldn't find the strength to listen. However, he did come back to his senses when Stellan stomped on his hand and they both cringed at the stomach-turning crack it made. He didn't dare move any of the snapped fingers, and the knife before him was swiped away. Stellan had taken his only weapon.

The events that followed didn't click with Corbett until later. Zada came rushing into the males' battle, turning Stellan's full attention to her. The two clashed, jaws clenched and sharp weapons armoring them. That's what led Corbett to his current predicament, with blood dripping down his back and exhaustion flooding his senses. He settled into his lichen patch comfortably and allowed his mind to rest. If things went well, either Zada or Stellan would be dead in the next half an hour. If Corbett was the luckiest guy in the world, they would kill each other and he could go home.

He rest for at least half a day before the torture started up once more. An onslaught of what felt like pebbles hit his head, and he awoke with a start. He had never seen precipitation like that before, but he remembered hearing of it in the past. …Hain? _Hail_. It was hail. The solid ice was putting a toll on his head, even with his hood up. The sizes of the hailstones were growing quickly as well. What started out pebble-size was morphing into fist-size, fast. It had to be the work of the Gamemakers. They were ready to end this as much as Corbett was, so they were going to force the tributes in the same vicinity.

Corbett treaded the surrounding area carefully. He entered a new spot where chilling rain was falling down in bucket loads. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure running through the trees, but he couldn't tell whom it was. He started to tiptoe towards them. His plan was to steal one of their weapons and do all that he could to make it through the rest. He wouldn't even mind if he were left with nothing but a spoon at that point- he would try. He was determined to get back home, to a warm bed and loving family. He didn't want to die there. There was so much more for him to see and do. He dropped his hood and the rain washed over his face. It was cool. It was an adrenaline rush. He readied himself to chase after that running body and bring them _down._

Before he could take off, suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his side and cried out at the sting. His eyes pried themselves open but were cloudy. Dizzy, that's what he was. He was so _dizzy_ all of a sudden. He glanced down to see a blade lodged firmly into his right oblique muscle. The boy gasped and felt the pain double just from the sight. There was a _knife_ in his _side_. He was afraid that if he found the strength to pull it out, his insides would come with it. He expected his life to end right there and then, but his heart was still beating loud and clear.

A flash of dark hair told him it was Zada there to ruin him once more, and that time she wasn't going to let him escape. She kicked him with and he fell over onto his good side with a hearty thump. She brought another knife up to his lower thigh. Tears surfaced in his eyes and he wailed as she pushed it down into his skin. Her way of killing him was a creative one. Maybe she would use every sharp object in the arena and penetrate Corbett's skin with it. Then she would bathe in his blood before attacking Stellan.

She smiled, her teeth red. Leaning in to him, Corbett could smell the metallic blood settling in her mouth. In the back of his mind he guessed that was a result of her previous fight with Stellan. Quietly, she said, "You would have been hot if you weren't such a coward." Those were the final words he heard before his ears started ringing. She stabbed him one last time, clear through the spot of his belly button. It hurt _so_ much. The pain was unbearable. Fire burned throughout his body as he went in and out of consciousness. Zada wasn't interested in chopping him into little pieces any more; she stabbed him and left him to die instead. She missed his vitals on purpose. Her wish was to let all of Panem watch him squirm in agony.

He was sure he was a goner. Every muscle stung. He struggled to move, to breathe. He needed help then. There was no chance of him fixing this on his own. He needed a sponsor, a team of doctors, he needed a miracle. He needed to _breathe_. Calm down, breathe, count to three. Then maybe he could find some small amount of strength to get up and find something,_ anything _to aid his wounds. Breathe, count to three, figure out the rest. Breathe. Count to three.

Inhale.

One.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Two.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Three.

_*Boom*_


End file.
